Dream On
by ceafiction
Summary: AU Sam Winchester struggles with horrible nightmares. He is haunted by them night after night. When his wife, Jess, talks him into going to a specialist, he is forced to confront what has been ruining his life... and he may not like what he finds behind that door. *Originally a piece I wrote for one of my classes but I changed the names/descriptions to fit Supernatural*
1. Chapter 1

The sky was dark with the exception of a few twinkling stars and the hovering crescent moon. The air had a slight chill, and the wind gently blew through the yellowing branches of ancient oaks. The crickets made a fast-paced melody that blended with the quick pounding of a heart and the thudding of feet on the soft earth.

Sam Winchester ran through the endless maze of trees, ducking around low branches and leaping over bushes and fallen limbs. His legs ached, and his lungs burned as he ran as fast as he could. Sam turned to look behind himself to see if he was still being chased when he tripped over a massive root, and he fell face-first onto the dirt, skidding across the ground on his stomach. He laid there in a daze, spitting out profanities between gulps for air. Behind him came the snap of a branch and the growling sound of heavy machinery, and rolling over onto his back, Sam came face-to-face with his pursuer, a tall, slender man shrouded in shadow with no features at all.

"No, no, no," whispered Sam under his breath. The shadow figure came forward slowly and kneeled in front of him. There was a loud crashing sound from far off in the distance, and instantly, the surrounding trees and bushes burst into flame. Sam sat in awe at the sight, but then he focused his attention on the shadow figure in front of him. The figure leaped forward and shoved him to the ground. It wrapped cold hands around Sam's neck and squeezed. Sam gasped for air as he struggled under the weight, but he was able to mumble one word before he saw nothing but black. "No!"

Sam woke with a jolt and was covered in a cold sticky sweat. His eyes darted back and forth, and then he realized he was laying in his bed in his bedroom, not on the ground in some unknown forest. He closed his eyes as he tried to slow his breathing. To his left, he could feel the bed moving, and he turned to see his beautiful wife, Jess, waking up. She looked at him with sympathetic eyes under a tangle of messy blond hair, and she gave him a faint smile.

"Another nightmare, sweety?" asked Jess with a soothing voice.

Sam took a deep breath, nodded, and smiled grimly.

"I'm sorry," Jess said as she pulled him into an embrace, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her close for what seemed like hours.

"Do you want to talk about it?" questioned Jess.

Sam buried his face further into the crook of her neck and mumbled a quiet "no". Jess pulled away and cupped his face in her hands. With a glowing smile, she gently kissed him. Sam smiled under her soft lips and slowly pulled away from her.

Both sat up and stretched their stiff limbs. Sam groaned as he turned and put his legs over the side of the bed and pushed his knuckles against his eyelids. Jess shuffled up next to him and rubbed large circles on his back.

"Are you okay, Sam?"

"Just tired is all."

Jess frowned. "I'm sorry you have these nightmares, sweety. Really, I am."

"I'm just so fed up with them, you know. The same one night after night for over a year. It's driving me crazy!"

Still rubbing his back, Jess spoke softly, "I know, Sam, I know. Do you want to go to that doctor I talked about? Dr. Winsor, I think. My co-worker told me her husband had nightmares, too, and Dr. Winsor made them disappear completely."

Sam turned to face her. He was afraid to go to this doctor because he knew he would have to tell him what the nightmares are about, and he wasn't too keen on that. He hadn't even told Jess about the recurring dream and the frightening shadow figure. However, deep down Sam knew he needed help, and these nightmares weren't going to go away on their own.

"Yeah," said Sam hesitantly. "I'll go."

Jess smiled brightly and hugged Sam's neck.

"Good! I'll go call and make an appointment."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Right at three o'clock, Jess and Sam pulled into the driveway of a massive brick building with a long wrap-around porch and monstrous wooden columns. The only thing that kept it from looking like a regular high-dollar home was the modest wood sign that was pounded into the front lawn that said, "Matthew Winsor, Psy.D. Family Psychology."

"This is it," announced Jess. "Ready?"

Sam looked down at his folded hands on his lap and fiddled with his wedding ring.

"Yeah."

They jumped out of the car and walked inside. The waiting room was small for a building so large, barely enough room for a small couch, a couple of chairs, and a small table piled high with magazines. A woman sat behind a glass window built into the wall, and all she did was peer over her book as Jess and Sam came up to her.

"Hello, how may I help you?" asked to woman in a raspy, annoyed voice.

"Hi, yes," said Jess, "we're here to see Dr. Winsor."

The woman put down her book and began typing quickly on the keyboard. "Name?"

"Sam Winchester," he replied.

The woman quickly glanced up at him before turning back to the computer screen.

"You can go on back," muttered the woman. "Room 106. Third door on your left when you walk through that door." The woman waved her hand in the direction of a door beside the window.

Jess pulled Sam through the door, and they walked into Room 106. The room was much, much larger than the waiting room. A high-backed leather chair sat in the center of the room at an angle to a long couch. An aged man sat at an extravagant wooden desk beside a massive bookcase filled with many leather-books. The man was in his mid-sixties with thinning salt and pepper hair and a gray beard, and he peered over his glasses and smiled warmly.

"Hello," he said as he stood up from his chair and walked around the desk, a hand running along the edge. "My name is Robert Winsor but you can call me Bobby. Nice to meet you." He shook hands with Sam and Jess.

"I'm Sam Winchester. This is my wife, Jess."

Dr. Winsor smiled wider and nodded to Jess. "Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Winchester."

"You, too," said Jess.

"Now," said Dr. Winsor. "Sit down, please, and we'll get this started."

Jess quickly sat down on the couch, and Sam wearily sat down next to her, weaving his fingers with hers. Dr. Winsor took a seat in the chair by the couch, opened a small notebook, and pulled out a pen from out of his pocket.

"Now, Mr. Winchester-"

"Please, call me Sam," interrupted Sam politely.

Dr. Winsor smiled again. "Sam, what's bothering you?"

Glancing back and forth, never keeping his eyes on one thing, Sam cleared his throat. "Nightmares. I've been having nightmares every night for over a year. Ever since I got back from overseas."

"Overseas?" questioned Dr. Winsor as he wrote in his notebook.

"Yes. I served in Iraq for almost two years. I've been back a little over a year."

"Thank you for your service," said Dr. Winsor.

Sam nodded faintly and mumbled a quiet "thank you." He focused his attention on a single spot on the carpet in front of the couch.

"How old are you, Sam?" asked Dr. Winsor.

Sam looked up. "Twenty-four."

"You look so much older," said Dr. Winsor. "Do you mind telling me about these nightmares? What are they about?"

Sam paused for a long time before he spoke. "I'm being chased. I, um, always get caught in the end. Every night. It's always the same every time."

"Who is chasing you?"

"That's just it. I don't know. It only appears as a shadow figure."

Dr. Winsor wrote quickly in his notebook before looking over his glasses. "So you don't see a face? You don't recognize who it is? Perhaps someone from your past?"

"There are no details. It doesn't have a face."

"Is there anything else you can recall?"

Looking down, Sam muttered, "No, not really."

Dr. Winsor took off his glasses and looked at him sympathetically. "I understand." He paused while he wrote in his notebook. "How was it overseas?"

Sam looked up and spat, "Bad. I don't want to talk about it if that's what you mean."

"Of course. I understand, but may I ask you why you don't want to talk about it? It may help you feel better about what might have happened to you."

With his hands shaking in anger and fear, Sam answered so quietly that Dr. Winsor had to lean forward to hear him. "No, please, I don't want to talk about it. Please." Sam got louder and louder, almost yelling. "I'm not here to talk about what happened overseas. I'm here to deal with these nightmares, remember?"

Dr. Winsor looked shocked at Sam's outburst but leaned back in his chair. "I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to force you in any way."

"No, I'm sorry I snapped. Sorry, it's just a sensitive topic."

"Well, I believe your nightmares may be tied to your experiences in Iraq. Just like you don't want to talk about what happened, the identity of the person chasing you may also be suppressed."

Turning away, Sam nodded, taking it all in.

"Now, Sam, it will take some time to completely diagnose you of anything at this point, but I'm not the kind of doctor who prescribes a lot of medication to just numb the pain. However, I do have something you can try in the mean time."

Sam turned to him. "What?"

"It's something that is fairly new, but I am sure it will work for the time being."

Sam sat up straighter in his seat and leaned forward.

"It's called dream controlling. It's where the person can control their dreams," explained Dr. Winsor. "It doesn't require you to return weekly or anything like that. No medication will be needed."

"That sounds," said Sam, "... complicated."

"Not at all, my boy. It's a very easy skill to pick up. Just takes some practice. You can control your dream by demanding your desired dream to happen before you fall asleep," explained Dr. Winsor. "It's also a lot easier if you are aware you lucid dream. If you are aware within the dream that everything you see or feel isn't real, it becomes very easy to control what is around you."

"How do you become aware you're dreaming?" asked Sam.

"There are multiple ways. Looking at a clock or at a book or any print, for that matter. You won't be able to read them."

Sam snickered. "Well, there won't be any clocks or newspapers to read in a forest is there, Doc?"

"Before you go to bed," explained Dr. Winsor. "Put on a watch and remember that you are wearing it as you go to sleep."

Nodding, Sam asked, "How do you control it?"

"Before you go to sleep, demand what you want. Say it over and over again in your mind. It could be a simple detail you want to alter, or it could be a complete change to the dream itself." Dr. Winsor smiled. "You may be able to make the nightmare disappear altogether."

Jess bounced in her seat and tightened her grip on Sam's hand. She smiled her breathtaking smile and turned to him.

"Honey, we can make them go away! Do you want to do it?"

Tightening his grip, he smiled wide, and with tears brimming in his eyes, he whispered, "Yeah."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

That night, Sam prepared for his first trial with the new treatment. Jess offered to sleep on the couch as to not disturb him while he tried to concentrate. He pulled on sweat pants and an old t-shirt, put on his watch, and slipped underneath the covers. He turned off the bedside lamp and turned over onto his side.

He demanded, he plead, he begged for no nightmares over and over again. "Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. No nightmares. No dreams. Nothing at all," he shouted in his mind until he slipped into darkness which then faded into light. Now, he was standing in the forest again and he spun in place, taking in his surroundings.

"No, no, no," repeated Sam to himself. "This isn't right. I shouldn't be here. Why isn't it working?" There was a slight tug on his wrist, and he looked down where the invisible force was pulling on hand. He still had the watch on. He lifted up his arm and looked at the watch which was too blurry to read. The numbers moved underneath the glass, and they blended into each other until the face was nothing but a gray mass.

"I'm dreaming," said Sam out loud. Then everything went black.

The birds chirped outside, and the sun brightly shined through the blinds. Sam woke up slowly instead of with a jolt of fear. His skin was free of a cold sweat, and his breathing was even and slow. He sat up slowly, and he chuckled and grinned. He turned to see if Jess was laying beside him, but the bed was empty.

"Jess," shouted Sam. "Jess! Come up here, Jess!"

A few moments later, Jess came sprinting into the room and ran over to Sam with her arms wide open to embrace him. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" asked Jess as she smoothed down his dark, messy hair and stared deeply into his eyes. Sam only stared back at her in silence. She looked confused and worried as she shook his shoulders. "Sam?"

With a wide, excited smile, Sam rejoiced, "I'm fine… no nightmares. No nightmares!"

He hopped up and began to bounce on the bed, laughing and giggling like a six year old on Christmas morning. When he offered a hand, Jess took it gladly and began to jump and laugh with him, but Sam stopped jumping suddenly and pulled Jess closer to him. He placed a soft gentle kiss on her lips and pulled her against him. After the passionate kiss, he pulled away slowly and hugged her around the shoulders, and he pushed his head into the crook of her neck.

"No more, no more," whispered Sam as he smiled.

Three weeks later, Jess and Sam pulled up to Dr. Winsor's office. He called two days earlier to see if Sam had been having any nightmares, and he seemed very pleased when they told him they had completely disappeared. He asked to see Sam to ask a few more questions. Jess and Sam hopped out of the car and went inside. The same woman sat behind the window, but when she saw them, she gave a faint nod of recognition and pointed at the door. They walked into the same large room and sat down on the couch as Dr. Winsor walked in with notebook in hand and a warm smile on his face. He shook their hands and sat down in the large chair beside them.

"So, Sam, how's the treatment working?" asked Dr. Winsor.

"Fantastic! Haven't had a single nightmare in three weeks."

Dr. Winsor beamed, happy that his advice worked. "Been sleeping well, I assume."

"Yes, sir."

"Great. Really great. Now, Sam, I have some more questions for you. Please answer them to the best of your ability."

Sam nodded, but he felt his heart sink. "Oh, no," he thought to himself.

Dr. Winsor cleared his throat and opened his notebook. "Do you avoid any place or topic that could remind you of the war?"

"Yes."

"Do you have problems concentrating?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you feel 'on guard' around people?'

"Yeah."

"Do you ever feel guilty, sad, depressed, or worthless?"

Sam looked down at his hands, avoiding any eye contact. "Yes."

"To which one?'

"All of them," Sam sighed.

"Any drug or alcohol use?"

"I'll have a beer now and again but never any heavy drinking."

"Do you ever feel detached from loved ones?"

He hesitated a long time. "Yes."

Dr. Winsor put down his notebook and pen and took off his glasses. "Well, Sam, I have good reason to believe you may have Posttraumatic Stress Disorder."

Sam looked up and asked, "What's that?"

"It's a type of anxiety disorder that is linked to depression. It usually occurs after a horrible experience. It's very common in returning soldiers. It makes you relive past experiences, mostly through flashbacks and… dreams."

"Why do you think I have it?"

"You have most of the common symptoms. The nightmares, for starters. Avoiding talking about it, detatchment, sleeping problems, feeling sad, depression, guilt, outburst of anger when anything related to what happened is mentioned."

Sam nodded. "He's right," thought Sam. "He's right."

"How do we get rid of it?" he asked.

"One sure way to get rid of it is face the fact that you will have to talk about it at some point or another."

"No, I'm not," spat Sam.

Dr. Winsor shook his head. "See, that's what I mean. You have depression, Sam. Do you know that it caused all those dreams? Do you know what caused the depression?"

"Yes, but-"

"The war," said Dr. Winsor. "The war did this, Sam-"

"I'm not going to talk about it if that's what you want," interrupted Sam, seething.

"You need to."

Sam shot up. "No, I'm not!"

"Ok, Sam, but you don't even have to talk to anyone. Just make yourself have a dream. No nightmare or anything like that but demand to meet your fears. Meet the person who is chasing you. Learn who it is. It will help put those feelings to rest."

Shaking in anger, Sam shouted, "No! I'm not! Go to hell!"

"Sam," whispered Jess.

"No, Jess! I'm done. Done with all of this!" Sam rushed out the door, past the woman behind the window, and out to the car. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth as he paced back and forth next to the car. Jess ran out the door behind him and when she caught up with him, she slapped him hard across the cheek.

"Jerk," shouted Jess as she hopped into the car and waited for him to get in on the passenger side.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 **Final Chapter! Sorry if it looks weird (indent wise) something went wrong when I copied and pasted it over. Thanks!**

Sam slept on the couch that night. He knew he had done Dr. Winsor wrong, but he was so afraid, so angry to even think about that war. He lay on the uncomfortable couch in silence with a thin blanket and a lumpy pillow until the voice of Dr. Winsor echoed in his mind.

"Just make yourself have a dream… and meet your fears."

Sam knew all along that the memories he had been keeping to himself were the reason the nightmares started in the first place, but he was too afraid, too ashamed to admit it. The war had scared him, and it showed him how twisted and cruel people could be. The sounds of heavy machinery, gunshots, and the screams and cries of dying men still pounding his is head every minute he was awake. It only made since they would haunt him in his dreams.

Sam turned over and pulled the blanket to his chin. He was ready to end this, all of this. He closed his eyes and willed himself to dream as he shouted in his mind, "Show yourself! Come on! Show yourself. Let me see you for what you are, what we are! I'm done with this! Come on, show yourself. I'm tired of this, let's finish this game you've been playing with me!"

Sam fell asleep with the yells bouncing in his head until the dark faded into light and all he could see was the forest and the shadow figure. The black figure stood tall and sharp against the moon behind him in the sky. The air was still, and no crickets chirped. The world was silent, like it was waiting for Sam to make his move.

Sam grinned and laughed coldly. "Show your face. I want to see it."

The blackness that enveloped the figure disappeared and before Sam stood a man that was all too familiar, wearing a slender black suit and tie. His hair was dark and neat, and his face was angular with sharp features which were covered in faded freckles. Sam's heart dropped at the sight.

"Dean?"

His brother stood before him. "This is impossible," thought Sam. He looked just like he always had. The crooked smile, the powerful stature. It was odd to see him in a suit but that wasn't what caught Sam's attention, it was his eyes. His eyes didn't have any irises or pupils. They were completely black.

"Heyya, Sammy," said Dean. "I am your memories."

Sam snapped, "What the hell do you want from me?"

Dean smiled the coldest grin Sam had ever seen and laughed. "I don't want anything from you, Sam."

"What do you mean?" demanded Sam.

"I don't want anything from you specifically. I want to show you something very important. In fact, it's the reason why I am here, why I've always been here."

With eyebrows knitted together in thought, Sam asked, "Here?"

Dean smiled again. "Yes, here. In your mind, Sam. In your dreams and your nightmares."

"What do you want to show me, then?"

Dean snickered loudly and stepped forward. "Your past."

The world went black. Sam felt weightless like he was floating below the surface of water. He couldn't breath no matter how hard he tried to fill his burning lungs. All of a sudden, the blackness disappeared, and then, Sam was standing in an abandoned desert town. The houses were crudely built with burning roofs and shattered windows. The dirt streets were littered with chunks of splintered wood and shards of glass, and the hot sun beat down on his shoulders.

Further down the road, a man in tattered rags came around a corner holding a shotgun. His skin was dark, and his eyes were hollow. From behind, Sam heard a man yell "Ready?!" He turned around, and he saw he was leading about ten men with US flags stitched onto camouflage uniforms. Sam looked down and noticed he wore the same outfit and in his hands was a gun. The man at the end of the street stopped and stared at the troops, and he looked extremely angry even though it looked like he could pass out at any moment. He began to yell in an unknown language as he raised his gun and aimed it at the troops.

"Stop!" yelled Sam as he rushed forward, forgetting the gun in his hands.

The man began to fire. The sound of gun shots filled the air along with hot bullets, most of which found their targets, and men dropped to the ground. Sam lifted his gun and shot a single shot that found its place with the man at the end of the street. The man stumbled backwards and fell into the dirt. Sam put down his gun and turned to see only five other men standing with their guns still by their sides, completely caught off guard. The other five men lay in the dust with dark crimson blood flowing from their wounds. In the midst of the crumbled corpses laid Sam's brother lay silent, his eyes still open but unseeing.

"Dean!" shouted Sam as he dropped his gun and himself into the dirt. He crawled to the body, and he shook his shoulders, begging him to wake. Tears streamed down Sam's cheek as he wept and sobbed into the bloody fabric of his fallen brother's shirt.

The scene faded away, and Sam was standing in the forest with the man in the slender suit. A warm tear rolled down Sam's face.

"Why did you show me that?" he asked. "What the hell did you show me that?!"

Dean smiled again, and he adjusted his black tie as he took another step towards Sam. "You needed to see."

Sam took a step back. "See what?"

Dean chuckled. "What you have done and seen."

Sam shot forward and stood nose-to-nose with Dean. "Listen to me. I know what I've seen. I see them everyday!"

Dean grinned, flashing his teeth. His solid black eyes stared intently into Sam's. "What do you see, Sam?"

"No!" shouted Sam. He didn't want to admit what he remembered. The memories terrified him. They broke him. They scared him. He didn't want anyone to pity him because of what happened to him. He could take care of himself.

"What do you see?"

Sam shook his head with tears brimming in his eyes.

"Sam, what do you see?" asked Dean. "What?!"

"I see them!" exploded Sam before he broke down in sobs. He crumbled and fell onto his hands and knees in front of Dean. As he clawed the earth, warm tears fell heavily from his eyes and dripped down his face and onto the ground. "I see you," said Sam with a cracking, broken voice between sobs. "The bodies, so much blood. Everyone I knew is dead! All of them… all of them."

Dean kneeled down so he could look into Sam's eyes. "Who's dead, Sam?"

Between gulps for air, Sam answered quietly, "My friends…My brother... They all died, shot, bombed."

"You saw so many die, didn't you? Twenty you knew personally. Four of them, close friends, right? Your brother?!"

"Shut up!" cried Sam.

"Every single person you knew, you saw die. You didn't hear about it from someone else. You were always there pushing on wounds or removing rubble. Always! You let me die!"

"I said shut up!" screamed Sam.

Dean paused for a long time listening to Sam's sobs before he answered. "You don't let anyone in, do you? Not even Jess. She or anyone else, for that matter, knows what happened to you. Only you, and keeping it in is killing you. Not physically but mentally. You're dying on the inside, Sam, and soon nothing will be left but the pain and the sorrow and all that blood. All that guilt. You think you can handle this all on your own, but you can't! You are so weak and petty. You're scared of people pitying you, but who will want to. You aren't worth the saving. You're dead inside, Sam. You. Are. Dead!"

Sam woke up with a start and quickly sat up. He was covered in a cold sweat, and tears streamed down his face. He lifted his hands up to wipe the tears away, but his hands were shaking violently. His whole body shook, as a matter fact. Sam pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs as he put his head between his knees.

"Jess," Sam called quietly between silent sobs. He cleared his throat and called a little louder, "Jess. Jess! Please."

Almost immediately, Jess came sprinting down the stairs and over to the couch. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and her hair was a matted mess on top of her head.

"Sam," said Jess quietly. "Sam, are you okay? You've been screaming for hours." She let out a sob as she sat down and unfolded his arms from around his legs. He looked up at her, and she noticed that his eyes were sunken in and had dark circles. His eyes were red, and his cheeks stained with tears. She gently wiped away the fallen tears. "Sweety? Sam?"

He cried out and jumped into her arms, and he buried his head into her shoulder. Sobbing, he pulled his arms around her and hugged her tight. "Yeah…"

"You did it, didn't you?" asked Jess. "What Dr. Winsor said."

Pulling her tighter, Sam cried, "Yes."

She pulled him closer. "Do you want to talk about it?"

His sobs stopped, and his breathing slowed. Sam pulled away from her and looked deeply into her eyes. She again wiped his cheek. He smiled weakly. "Yeah, yeah, I do."


End file.
